


Different Roads

by celeste9



Category: Primeval
Genre: 5 Times, Alternate Universe - Canon, Character Death Fix, F/M, Gift Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 10:41:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celeste9/pseuds/celeste9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five lives James Lester might have lived, and the people he might have loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Different Roads

**Author's Note:**

> Belated birthday fic for knitekat, who asked for Lester with Ryan or Becker or Lyle, so I wrote all three and then some in a 5 times type fic. Beta by fredbassett, to whom credit for Lyle goes.

_ 1\.  _

He met her in spring.

Her name was Roberta, but she preferred Bobby. With a ‘y’, because she claimed an ‘i’ was too cutesy and obnoxious. They met in a coffee shop at an ungodly hour of the morning, when she was in the middle of studying for exams and he was doing his best to stand out from the crowd at the Home Office. 

She spilled coffee on him, all over the front of his brand new Dunhill suit. 

“Oh! Goodness!” In her haste to grab napkins to wipe up her mess, she lost her grip on the stack of books and papers that were spilling out of her arms and it all clattered to the floor.

James knelt down to help her, mentally calculating exactly how much time he had before he would be late. He picked up a coffee-splattered composition notebook and as he handed it to her, he met her eyes full-on for the first time. They were brown, ostensibly, but he felt like ‘brown’ was too common a word to apply to this particular shade, full of warmth and little golden flecks. She had a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and she was biting her lip.

“I’m so sorry, how clumsy of me, so stupid,” she kept saying, babbling, abandoning her things to dab at the wet splotch on James’ jacket. “Let me buy you a coffee to apologise? Or at least pay for your dry cleaning?” She smiled at him, shyly and nervously. There were dimples in her cheeks.

James had never minded an inconvenient mess so little in his life.

They married less than two years later and had their first child in under three. The first of three beautiful little girls, each with their father’s eyes but their mother’s face, much to their good fortune, James always thought. He wished he could also say they had all inherited their mother’s temperament, but that would have been a lie. It would also have been a lie if he said he did not have a special fondness for his eldest and her rough edges, who so reminded him of himself.

He worked too much, but Bobby understood him. She understood his ambition and his drive and rather than resenting him for the terrible hours and the stress that so frequently put him in a bad mood, she became the ideal partner. She was the perfect society wife, throwing parties and hosting dinners and gliding by his side to even the dullest functions, using her unique graces to get the latest gossip and make the contacts he couldn’t. 

His assignment to the anomaly project proved to be a strain. Too many secrets and even worse hours, and he could never explain the calls that took him from their bed in the middle of the night. He spent more time in his flat in the city, too many nights in a cold, lonely bed, away from Bobby’s comforting embrace. 

They fought more, heated arguments that tested James’ restraint and put Bobby’s temper on display. She was naturally warm but when angered she burned fiercely. James had a tiny scar near his left ear from a heavy picture frame she threw at him that he couldn’t quite avoid. (She’d cried, later, on the way to the hospital for stitches. Whatever they’d been arguing about was completely forgotten.)

But they worked through it. Bobby was his life, Bobby and their girls, and he would have given up everything to keep them. It just took a while for her to believe that.

The call that changed everything came while he was at work. By the time he reached the hospital, Bobby was already gone.

It was an accident, they said. Nothing the driver could have done. James listened calmly to all the explanations, accepted the false sympathy, and thought about finding the bastard who’d hit Bobby and breaking his nose, maybe snapping each of his fingers. He wondered if it would help.

He brought the girls to stay with him in London. He got a bigger flat, three bedrooms so Kate could have her own room and only Ellie and May would have to share. He left the anomaly project.

Nothing was more important than his family. He’d meant it when he’d said it to Bobby and he meant it now.

Ellie and May were asleep, Ellie slumped against James’ side and May lying on a pillow by his feet. James turned down the volume on the film.

Kate wasn’t watching it anyway. She leaned her head on James’ shoulder and he wrapped his arm around her. “It would be okay if you met someone, you know. It would be okay with all of us. We want you to be happy, Daddy.”

“I am happy.”

Kate blinked her big eyes at him. “Aren’t you lonely?”

James brushed his fingers through Kate’s hair, curly and blonde like her mother’s. “No. How could I be? I have you.”

It was the truth. 

__

_ 2\.  _

Ryan looked terrible, but nevertheless James wouldn’t have traded the sight of him for anything. Half his face was covered in white gauze, the claw marks beneath dangerously close to his right eye, James knew. It would doubtless leave a scar, a constant reminder of the predator that had almost taken his life.

Beneath the hospital gown, there was more bandaging. Ryan was lucky to be alive. Apparently, it could even be considered a miracle.

James didn’t believe in miracles or in luck. He did believe in Captain Ryan.

“Suppose you’ve heard,” Ryan said.

“Yes.” It appeared that Ryan was considered no longer fit for active duty and the army was pushing him out. There would be a full evaluation when Ryan was released from hospital, but no one was under any illusions as to what the verdict would be, least of all Ryan himself. “You have options, you know. The army might not want you but--” _I still do,_ James might have said, if he were a man prone to dramatic proclamations. “The anomaly project still does,” he said instead.

“Options,” Ryan muttered under his breath. “Sounds like a death sentence to me.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, I get enough of that from Cutter.”

“I’m not sure I know how to be the person you want me to be.”

“That’s ridiculous because I only want you to be yourself,” James said, waving him off. “Surely you can manage that.”

“What’s that then? Maimed soldier?” Ryan would persist in being obstinate. It was annoying.

“If you’re expecting to force a compliment, you’re speaking to the wrong person.”

Ryan chuckled, surprised sounding, as though he hadn’t meant to. “No, of course not. Future predators I can handle, but wanton displays of kindness from Sir James Lester? That might do me in.”

“Then it’s lucky you have entirely nothing to fear on that count,” James said and folded his hands behind his back. He wondered if he should be hurt that everyone seemed to think he lacked a heart, or perhaps he should merely be proud of how well he could maintain a proper illusion. “Now, then, let’s be clear - I don’t exactly have anyone clamouring at the gate to get in on this project, nor do I have reams of applications to view from anyone with either ‘dinosaur hunting’ or ‘eccentric scientist wrangling’ on their CVs.” He was pleased with himself for choosing ‘eccentric’. There were many other less kind adjectives eligible for consideration.

“So, in other words,” Ryan said, not losing any of his wry amusement, “you’re not letting me out of your grasp.”

“No, Captain, you’re far too valuable, whatever you or the army may think.” For a split second James considered leaving it at that, but then he pushed on. “Perhaps we can discuss it all over dinner, once you’re released.”

Ryan gazed at him for several long moments, his blue eyes unblinking. “Lester,” he said then, slowly, “are you asking me out on a date?”

James lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. “You may interpret it how you wish.”

“No,” Ryan said, face set determinedly. “No, I don’t think so. I think I’ll interpret it how you want me to. What the hell, Lester? Tell me what you mean.”

“It means,” James said, strategically swallowing so as to give himself a second to formulate what he wanted to say but not long enough to second guess himself, “that I am inviting a colleague and a friend to dinner in order to have a civilised and hopefully interesting conversation, and we’ll see where it leads us.”

“And if it leads to coffee at your place?”

James steadied himself and met Ryan’s gaze resolutely. “I have an espresso machine.”

Another of those unexpected, surprised laughs escaped from Ryan’s lips, and it could even be said that he looked cheerful, which was saying a lot considering the situation. “Well,” he said. “How could I refuse?” 

__

_ 3\.  _

“I know what I’m getting you for your birthday,” Lyle said, unceremoniously letting himself into James’ office without so much as a knock, and plopping down into a chair.

James chose not to answer him, wondering that if perhaps he simply ignored Lyle, the man would leave.

“A watch.”

Oh, yes, he lived in hope.

James stretched out his arm over his desk purposefully so that the sleeve of his shirt moved up his wrist slightly. The watch face peeked out.

If James had been looking, he suspected from the tone of voice that Lyle would have been rolling his eyes. “Yes, I know you already own a watch. An incredibly expensive one, too, I’m sure. It doesn’t do much if you never look at it, though.”

“I look at it. I simply find that it has little bearing on what needs to be done.” The work didn’t do itself after six o’clock so he could go home.

“You know what I think?”

“No, and I’d say that I also don’t care if I actually believed it would stop you from telling me.”

“I think,” Lyle went on blithely, ignoring James entirely as James had known he would, “you should come home and let me help you with your stress levels.”

“Tempting,” James said with a complete lack of inflection. It was, actually, but Lyle didn’t need to know that.

“Sweetums,” Lyle said, coming round the side of the desk and depositing himself on the edge, jostling James’ work and forcing his gaze. “No one likes you when you’re stressed. The word ‘ogre’ gets thrown around a lot.”

Ogre? That was a bit much. “I fail to see the relevance of that.”

“You might, but it’s very tiring to listen to people complain about you all day. For some reason they are all under the impression that I could do something about it.”

“How odd.”

“Isn’t it? So come on, let me give you a massage, bring you a drink. You’ll feel better, I’ll feel better, your employees will be happier, tomorrow you’ll be all set to be king of the castle again… It’s a win all around.” 

James considered it. Lyle gave excellent massages, after all. He also made a good point, which was alarming, because it was Lyle.

Twenty minutes. Then he’d leave. Long enough to finish what he was doing and also to maintain the appearance that he was doing what he wanted, not what Lyle told him to.

“I’m not wearing any pants,” Lyle said in a stage whisper, waggling his eyebrows.

James raised an eyebrow.

Lyle shrugged. “Worth a shot. Would it have worked if I were a woman?”

“Maybe if you were wearing a trenchcoat and nothing else,” James said and returned to the email he had been composing regarding proper health and safety protocols. 

__

_ 4\.  _

When James walked into the living room after a long day at the ARC, Becker was on the sofa, curled into a corner with tea and the TV tuned to rugby. James watched him for a few long moments, feeling his heart rate quicken and utterly unable to think of anything but how stupidly glad he was to see the man. 

Becker was staring right back at him, something weary and weathered and… shuttered in his face. Shuttered like there were things he didn’t want James to see. He was dressed only in a t-shirt and boxers, his hair slightly damp like he’d taken a shower. The rugby was only muted background noise, as if Becker had put it on simply to have it on, something normal, something comforting.

James swallowed and straightened his spine. “I will say this, your timing is excellent. You missed the Liopleurodon. Not to mention the Admiral.” It was really best not to mention the Admiral. In fact, James would prefer not to so much as think of him ever again.

“Ryan told me.”

“You’ve already spoken to him?” Of course he had. Becker had likely rung Ryan the second he had mobile service again, and had Ryan been in the middle of an incursion, James had no doubt Becker would have dropped everything and joined him. If anything, James was surprised Ryan hadn’t mentioned Becker was back. Perhaps Becker had asked him not to.

“Wanted to make sure everything was all right.”

“We managed without you, Captain.” _Are_ you _all right?_

“I can see that,” Becker said, his gaze shifting away. “I hope it’s okay that I came here.”

“That’s why I gave you a key,” James said, when all he truly wanted to say was, _I missed you, never leave me again, stay here always._ Becker could have died, could have died in whatever God forsaken country he’d been sent to, doing God knew what, and James wouldn’t have even known. He’d hardly been able to banish the images from his mind the entire time Becker had been gone, imagining Becker lying bloody and broken on the ground somewhere, dead and alone and so far away. 

James was nothing to Becker, not in the eyes of anyone else. He wouldn’t have even been given the courtesy of a letter.

“Did you though?” Becker asked, and it took James a second to recall the thread of their conversation. “I seem to recall taking it myself.”

“Becker,” James tutted. “Do you honestly think you would ever have got hold of a key to my flat if I hadn’t already wanted you to have it?”

“I think you underestimate my resourcefulness.”

“And you underestimate my control.”

“Oh, yes, God forbid you shouldn’t have your finger in every single thing that happens,” Becker grumbled.

“Have you eaten?” James asked, choosing the nobler course and ignoring Becker. “I was going to make a salad.”

“I could eat,” Becker answered, predictably enough, as he tended not to refuse food ever. It would be a wonder he stayed so slim if James didn’t know both his chosen career path and his exercise regimen.

James was rather fond of Becker’s exercise regimen, as a matter of fact.

He took off his suit jacket, rolled up his cuffs, and went into the kitchen to gather up some produce for a salad. He toasted some bread and cheese as well, determinedly not taking note of the oddity of Becker not so much as poking his head in while James was preparing dinner.

Instead of moving Becker to the dining room, James took dinner to him. If Becker was surprised by the uncustomary indulgence, he didn’t show it. Instead, he merely took his salad and his bread and started eating, silently and methodically. 

Following Becker’s lead, James didn’t attempt to strike up a conversation, nor did he try to change the channel to something he might have enjoyed more. To be completely honest, James only liked rugby for two reasons and neither of those reasons was currently in evidence, as Becker was neither amusingly animated nor wanting to have celebratory sex.

When they’d finished eating, James cleared up by himself, as Becker stared glassy-eyed at the TV, and then returned to the sofa with his laptop. He wished he could say the silence was companionable, as it normally was during the evenings when James and Becker were simply inhabiting the same space and not directly interacting, but it was anything but. He didn’t know what he should do, if he should try to talk to Becker, if he should try to distract him, if he should move closer or yet farther apart.

As it was, he ignored everything. 

“I’m off to bed,” he said eventually, shutting down his laptop and rising to his feet. “Are you going to stay up?”

Becker shrugged and stayed on the sofa. The TV was tuned to some sort of American superhero programme. 

James left him to it and had a shower by himself. He got into bed by himself, turning the lights off and rolling onto his side.

It wasn’t actually much later when Becker came in, making a rustling of noise as he took his shirt off and then drew the covers back on the other side of the bed, getting in. After a moment he said, “Is it all right if I stay here?”

Turning over to face Becker, James said, “You’re welcome to stay whenever you like, you know that.”

Becker didn’t say anything. His face looked blank in the darkness.

James felt like he should know exactly what he should say and what he should do. He should know what Becker wanted.

Only he didn’t. He was afraid to reach out and make things worse and he was afraid of the opposite. He hesitated, feeling useless and like a horrible partner and hating it, and then he took a gamble. He was James Lester and he was good at playing the odds, and he certainly wasn’t afraid of making a move.

He shifted closer to Becker and laid his hand on Becker’s cheek. He said, “I would like you to stay.”

Becker made a tiny, soft sound like a sigh and rolled over, pressing into James’ chest and staying there. 

James held him and reflected that he should always, always trust his instincts. 

__

_ 5\.  _

When James arrived home at half one in the morning, it was after a very, very long day. A very, very long day which he would prefer to strike from his memory completely, if only he had that option.

There was a note on the kitchen counter. In large print, scrawled with a black marker, the note read, _EAT SOMETHING!!_ Underneath was an arrow, pointing towards the refrigerator. Upon opening the fridge, James discovered a second note, this one placed in front of a carton which clearly contained Chinese takeaway. It said, _THIS WOULD BE GOOD,_ underlined a few times.

James allowed himself a small, fond smile and got a plate out of the cabinet. He dumped some sweet and sour pork onto it and microwaved it, before sitting down at the dining room table. He ate quickly and then proceeded to treat himself to a hot toddy, as he felt that if anyone deserved such a beverage, it was him. Especially tonight.

In the bedroom, he pulled his pyjamas out of the drawer in the dark and went into the bathroom, where he quietly prepared for bed. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror as he washed his face and frowned at himself. He hoped it was poor lighting that made him look so haggard, though the part of him that was honest knew that was only wishful thinking.

James slid into bed, trying to be careful so as not to disturb the bed’s sleeping occupant. He lay on his back and closed his eyes, breathing deeply, thankful to finally be home.

After a moment, he turned over. He stared at the dark shape on the other side of the bed and then decided he deserved a bit of indulgence. Particularly as no one was awake to call him on it.

He moved over and curled around his lover’s back, appreciating the familiar sensations, the smell of shampoo and the way they fitted together so perfectly, though James refused to admit that he was snuggling.

It was somewhat too hot but James found he didn’t mind in the slightest.

**_ End _ **


End file.
